


here to stay

by mustdefine



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F, Henry is a Little Shit, Swan-Mills Family, and the biggest Swan Queen shipper, written for the dumpster
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2015-10-04
Packaged: 2018-04-24 17:14:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4928221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mustdefine/pseuds/mustdefine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Henry's moms are being idiots about their feelings, honestly. If he doesn't take care of them, who else will?</p>
            </blockquote>





	here to stay

Henry finally snaps one day when they're all having dinner at the diner. Emma's been ignoring multiple texts and Mom isn't wearing that hideous rock (or the matching earrings that had come later) and they're crowded next to each other in the same booth, shoulders touching every time they exchange looks, and it just kind of explodes out of him.   
  
"When are you two idiots going to admit you're dating already? You're not fooling anyone!!"   
  
His mothers stare at him. "Henry!" Regina says.

"Don't talk to your mother in that tone," Emma says.   
  
"Or maybe you're only fooling yourselves," Henry says. He shakes his head and says with despairing affection, "Moms, I love you, but you _are_ idiots and you need to get it together sometime this century. Preferably before I leave for college."   
  
"We're not—"   
  
"Henry, you don't—"   
  
"You are and I do." He slides out of the booth. "I gotta meet Paige at the library. Think about it; you're missing out on a prime chance to embarrass me before I go to college. Oh, also, I'm pretty sure the betting pool's got some serious cash in it by now. You should maybe see if you can get in on that by proxy."   
  
Neither of them are looking at each other. "Henry Daniel Mills," Mom starts.   
  
Emma mumbles, "Betting pool?"   
  
"BYE," Henry says firmly. He leaves the diner, pauses to text Paige, then looks in the window. Emma is stealing shy glances at Mom, who's staring straight ahead, face a little flushed. Henry rolls his eyes and walks on.   
  
When he gets home, Emma's boots are lined up in the entryway. "In here, dear," Mom calls. The kitchen is warm and smells like cinnamon and nutmeg. Mom slaps Emma's hand away from the cookie dough and smiles at him. "How's your project going, darling?"   
  
"Good," Henry says slowly. Behind Mom's back, Emma sneaks some dough from the bowl and winks at him. Mom turns and sighs, "Miss Swan." Well. If they're going to pretend to be normal, he's not going to have any part of this. And it's not that he doesn't crave normalcy after everything they've been through—but this, this is important, and they're going to look at colleges soon and he just...he wants his moms to be happy and safe when he's gone.  
  
So he says, "Going to do homework, be back for cookies."   
  
"Okay, see you, kid."   
  
"I'd better catch you making out when I come back," Henry adds. He escapes before Emma can do more than blink at him while Mom darts a glance at her and then presses her lips together. Which, ew, he doesn't really want to see or think about that. But if he doesn't take care of them, who else will?   
  
He does math first to get it out of the way, settles in to do some reading and maybe start an essay. The tantalizing smell of cookies drifts up to his room eventually, but Mom had let him have a milkshake with dinner at Granny's (and then he'd gotten ice cream with Paige), so he gives it some time. Considers piping in "Kiss the Girl" or "Can You Feel the Love Tonight," but that seems too on the nose, even if they could both use some encouragement.   
  
After an hour, Henry eases his door open and tiptoes down the stairs, pausing on the landings and in the entryway. He can hear the low murmur of conversation but can't make out words. He works his way to right outside the kitchen door and listens.   
  
"...be fine, Regina," Ma is saying. "You've raised him to be this...this awesome kid—man—and he's going to go learn things and do so much good in the world."   
  
"He gets that from you, too," Mom says softly. "That drive to help others, empathy and kindness..."   
  
Clothes rustle and Mom hums briefly. He thinks Emma's taken her hands, risks a peek around the corner. And yes, they're standing close together, Ma holding Mom's hands and looking at her with such tenderness and awe.   
  
"He's our son. One hundred percent. Somehow we've raised this amazing kid who's becoming his own person. And who that person is," Emma says, stepping closer until Mom in her stocking feet has to tilt her head up, "who that person is, is someone who'll always, _always_ be your little boy."   
  
Mom's eyes are wet and her chin's quivering a little. "I'm going to miss him so much."   
  
"I know," Emma says, smiling that smile that's Mom-only. Squeezes her hands and lowers her head a bit. "But you'll have me, too." Her smile turns wry and self-deprecating, and Mom takes a breath, frees a hand to brush hair back from Ma's face.   
  
"Darling Emma," she murmurs. She looks uncertain after the endearment escapes her lips, but Emma—Emma's eyes are so bright, so hopeful. She shrugs a little.   
  
"You know I'm yours, right?"   
  
" _Emma_ ," Mom breathes.   
  
Ma grins. "Can't get rid of me, actually. Sorry. Here to stay."   
  
Mom bites her lip. Sometime in the past few minutes, they've stopped holding hands. Now Emma's hands are resting on Mom's hips and Mom's hands are on her forearms.   
  
Mom leans in until she's right in Ma's space, like they've been doing for years except they hadn't realized why until now. Push and pull, gravity, need and understanding.   
  
"Do you promise?" Mom whispers, and Ma says " _Yes_ ," and kisses her.   
  
And, okay, it's kind of gross, but it's also kind of beautiful, dark and golden heads together, arms wrapping around each other and holding so tightly. These are his moms, and they're going to be all right.   
  
He, on the other hand, might be scarred for life with the, like, _smacking_ sounds and oh god, where is Ma's hand—where is _Mom_ 's hand, ew no gOD—   
  
"Hey, moms," Henry says loudly. He smirks as they shoot apart, eyes a little wild. "So...are the cookies ready?"   
  
Mom runs a hand through her hair. "Henry...we...I..."   
  
Ma's shaking her head and grinning. "Little shit," she says.   
  
"Love you too, Ma. Now, did you leave any dough for the actual cookies, or...?"   
  
"Come here, kid," Emma says, drawing him into a one-armed hug. Mom's got her arms wrapped around herself, but she's smiling as she watches them, and smiling when she looks at Ma, and smiling when she hands him a plate of still-warm cookies.   
  
"Have as many as you want, _querido_."   
  
Emma reaches for the plate. Mom bats her hand away. "What the hell, Regina, we were literally just—"   
  
"Those are for our son," Mom interrupts, although she blushes a little and reaches out to snag Emma's fingers with hers. "You can have some of the next batch."   
  
"Okay." Ma's got this goofy look and Mom looks equally dreamy, which, self-congrats on a mission accomplished, but he really doesn't need to stick around any longer. Not that they wouldn't welcome him, because they all belong together as a unit. But Mom and Ma? They belong together too, even without him, and they deserve a chance to have this.  
  
"Gonna go finish my homework and go to bed," he announces, smoothly slides the plate off the island and turns to go. "Night, moms."   
  
"Goodnight, baby."   
  
"Night, kid."   
  
He lingers in the hall, peeks around the doorway one last time. They're in each other's arms again, foreheads pressed together, smiling as they sway together. It's disgustingly cute and it's profoundly moving, and they've all come such a long way to be here. Henry smiles, work as an author of choices done for now, and goes back to his room.   
  
Downstairs, his mothers are kissing in the kitchen like they'll never be alone again.


End file.
